


more than interesting

by occhiolist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-05-29 19:35:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15080219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/occhiolist/pseuds/occhiolist
Summary: Draco's 'friends' slip him a love potion aimed to watch him make a fool of himself with Harry Potter. Problem is, he's acting no differently than normal.(eighth year fic)





	1. curiousity

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: "some slytherins sneak draco a 24 hour love potion and wait for him to make a complete fool of himself around harry, but he doesn't act any differently than normal."

Perhaps it would have been better if Draco had stayed inside his dorm that day, but that wasn't exactly an option. Maybe it would have been better if he hadn't returned to Hogwarts for an eighth year in an attempt to better himself and his family's image. Or it may have been better if he hadn't gone to Hogwarts to begin with. 

Yes. That would've solved everything.

-

Draco woke one Tuesday morning to the sound of his dormmates rustling around. It was early, a bit earlier than he typically got up, thus he was plenty aggravated that they were making such noise. He pulled the sheet up over his eyes and ears in an attempt to block out the day's disturbances, but to no avail. 

"Draco," One boy said, whom Draco hadn't really bothered to get to know all that well but dealt with all the same. He had soft hair. His name was Brandon. "Draco, wake up!"

Soft hair or no, the boy was on the verge of meeting a proper stunning spell.

Draco spoke through the sheets. "What is it?" he said tiredly, still half asleep. Brandon giggled. "Blaise said to get up early and meet him in the Great Hall. He wants to have a go at the Potions equipment before the Gryffindors get in so we can get points."

The blonde groaned. "And why couldn't literally anyone else do this with him?"

"We are!" The other boy exclaimed. "But all of the eighth years from the house have to be there for the points, remember?"

Draco snorted, climbing out of bed. "You say that as if there is more than twelve of us from each house."

The boy shrugged. "Less people to count on, easier to pull together. Come on, now! We've still got to eat!"

Frankly, the former Death Eater wasn't all that excited about breakfast. He preferred to remain upstairs, but it wasn't uncommon for his housemates to force him to the Hall. He tried not to say much about it and remain good-natured, but sometimes, it was his worst nightmare. He could get away with skipping dinner a lot more easily, though.

He pulled on his robes, snatching up his wand from the bedstand and following Brandon out the door to the Great Hall. He almost walked away when he saw the whole eighth year Slytherin house sitting at the table designated for their year only. Yes, they were small, but that was worse, because they all practically knew everything about each other. Except Draco. He did his best to not get to know much of anybody more than he already had. Brandon sat down just as happily as always, and as Draco was made to sit next to him, he found himself wondering for the umpteenth time how the other boy had gotten into Slytherin rather than Hufflepuff. He knew better than to doubt him, though. It was what one couldn't see that had the value, he had learned.

His housemates were all in a weirdly talkative mood, and he was having little of it. He picked at pieces of fruit on his plate as a goblet was shoved in front of him. He looked up to see Theodore Nott grinning at him. "Here," he said amiably. "Drink it."

Draco took the cup politely, peering inside. It was the color of cranberry juice, nothing unordinary, but Theo offering it made it suspicious. "What is it?" he asked.

"Cranberry juice," the other boy answered cheerily. "We've all got some. I added just a wee bit of Felix Felicis, though. You know, for those points."

The blond cocked his head. "That's a bit of a waste of a potion, don't you think?"

"Nah," the other dissuaded. "It's really for the principle. Come on, now. Cheers, all! To winning the House Cup!"

"Aye!" the others mock-saluted. Draco smiled pleasantly, giving in to the charade. He pulled a swig from the goblet- after all, when doesn't one need a bit of luck?- and continued sipping at it throughout the meal. His companions kept glancing over at him, but Draco was fairly used to being stared at, so he didn't think much of it.

Then the Gryffindors came in. 

Draco willed himself to keep looking at his plate, to not look up, but of its own volition, as usual, his body disobeyed, glancing towards the near side of the table where the other eighth years were settling themselves, including Hermione Granger and... Harry Potter. The black haired boy shoved into the seat, listening intently to his friend ramble about something passionately. Draco wondered what it was like to be on the receiving end of such intent curiousity, and then he realized he had been before, just never positively. He looked away, back at his plate, and focused on veering his mind away from things that were Potter-related. At the same time, said boy glanced over at him, and Draco could feel him looking, before hearing, "'lo, Malfoy!"

The Slytherin drew in a breath that was only a bit shaky before meeting the Gryffindor's eyes. He waved hesitantly, just like nearly every morning. "Hello, Potter." And just like nearly every morning, Harry Potter beamed at him, then returned to his conversation, and Draco was left to have next to zero appetite as his stomach erupted into butterflies.

Oh, sweet Merlin, perhaps if he had died, things would be better.

-

The Slytherins and Gryffindors had joint Potions, because that was the best combination, as history spoke, of course. Their professor just enjoyed giving points based on which house was early enough to clean out the cabinets and shutters, so Draco's part of the table rushed to the classroom to take their seats. The Gryffindors wandered in lazily as they cleaned and set up the room. Honestly, it seemed that the entire eighth year Gryffindor body distinctly lacked any sort of fervor that was usually so typical of the house itself. Draco scrubbed the inside of a cauldron and watched Potter come in, settling down in the seat beside his own. Draco bit his lip, looking away, pretending to be deeply engrossed in his task. The other boy peered inside the cauldron. "Why're you scrubbing it?" he questioned, and the blond blinked. "Um," he said stupidly, then mentally berated himself. "We're making something thin, apparently. So any residual material stuck inside could ruin it. Can't risk it," he answered, returning to the cauldron. "Would you mind flipping to 474?"

Harry did as told, but still asked, "Why?"

Draco looked back at him, staring. Then, "Because that's what the Professor's written up on the board."

The boy who lived looked up to confirm the other's statement, and then grinned sheepishly. "That, ah. Makes sense."

"I would hope so," Draco retorted. Harry elbowed him in his side, albeit gently, and all of Draco's nerves pinpointed to the spot where he'd touched. He turned to Harry, finished scrubbing but still with sponge in hand. The latter returned the gaze openly, with a wide grin still plastered on his face. He reached over and picked the sponge from Draco's fingers. "Don't need that any longer, no?"

Draco merely shook his head. Harry chuckled, and went to return it to the soap bin. Draco's eyes followed him, but he quickly turned to his textbook, sitting down in his seat and wishing quite hard that he was anywhere but here. Alas, he could feel Harry sit back down and lean slightly closer to read over his shoulder. "Pepperup Potion?" Harry read outloud, sitting back with a huff. "That's awfully boring. We always do the boring ones on Tuesdays."

Draco hadn't intended to, but he let out a small snicker. Harry seemed encouraged by this and kept going. "Do you think it's because the Professor is secretly some sort of party animal?"

The Slytherin raised a brow. "Nobody parties on a Monday."

"Aha! But that's where you're wrong! If one is a Potions teacher, who teaches a limited amount of different potions, and has a disproportionate amount of interesting and uninteresting potions to teach about, perhaps one drains oneself by getting crazy and starting off the week with an interesting potion, and then is too tired the next morning, so one teaches a properly uninteresting potion to make up for it."

"That is absolutely absurd," Draco responded, biting his cheek to keep from grinning at the stupid ranting. Harry shook his head. "Oh no," he disagreed. "I think it's quite possible. It's the sort of observation Luna would make me privy to. I've been learning the ins and outs of this school's theory, Malfoy."

Perhaps another year, Draco would've responded with a snark about Lovegood's concept of fact. But today, he only looks to Harry, who seems well pleased by his jousting, and he thinks about how well Harry treats the friends he has here. And speaks on such. 

"You are awfully nice to all of them," he says, before he knows what he's doing. He doesn't dwell on it much, though, because it's innocent enough. Harry looks puzzled, though. 

"All of who?"

Draco fiddles with his quill. "Your friends. Like... Luna."

Harry observes him for a moment, probably trying to see where the punchline is. When he finds none, the grin is back in place. "They deserve it. They're just as good to me. I quite like them." Draco nodded politely, but the other boy continued. "After all, I think this would all be infinitely boring without the lot of you."

The Slytherin froze. "Of us? What do you mean?"

Harry fixed him with an amused look. "My friends. The ones we were just discussing?"

He considered Draco a friend.

Friends. 

This time a year ago, they'd wanted to kill each other. But today, they were friends. 

What a blissful world to live in.

"Draco?"

He snapped back to the conversation, in which Harry was looking at him expectantly. Draco had no idea what he'd said before, if anything. "I'm sorry," he said. "What'd you say?"

Harry motioned towards the cupboard. "We need a snout."

Draco blinked. "A snout."

A solemn nod. "A snout" Harry made a gesture as if elongating his nose. "You know?"

Draco was suddenly laughing. Harry was as well, and they went to the cupboard together, retrieving their materials, as the headed back to the table, Draco felt eyes on him, and looked to see Blaise and Theodore watching him carefully. He knotted his brow together, and they waved, totally friendly. Draco waved back. Perhaps it was odd for them to see him laughing. They always gave him odd looks when he did.

"So," Harry prompted as they divvied up the necessary tasks. Draco was cutting a root, and looked over to his partner with a raised brow in lieu of an answer. "What're you reading now?"

Draco blinked, completely confused for a moment, before remembering that for whatever odd reason, Harry liked to hear about the books he'd been reading recently. So he began talking about it as he was cutting. "It's the History of Merlin, unadapted. Quite interesting, I think, although a bit dry- you see...."

As he went on animatedly, at one point waving the knife he was holding before Harry gently moved the hand back down to the table, Draco continued to focus on their work, only looking to Harry every so often to check what he was doing or to make sure he was still listening. He always was. Draco did not notice, however, his Slytherin friends glancing over at their table frequently, nor the way Harry was looking at him. It was a gaze of intent curiosity. 

In this case, though, it was notably positive.


	2. silence

"So, Draco."

A voice came from above Draco's head, shadowing him as he was gathering his scrolls from his third lesson. He glanced up to see Blaise, his face curved in an odd expression. "Oh, hello, Zabini," Draco said amiably. "Something wrong?"

The other boy shook his head, the look still in place. "No, I was just making sure you... felt alright."

The blond frowned, standing fully and strapping his books. "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" He said this shortly, beginning to head out the door and into the halls behind a small mass of other students. Blaise followed. 

"Oh, no reason-"

"Has this got something to do with the way you've all been leering at me all day?" More so than usual, he thought, but didn't add. For it was true- the Slytherins had effectively creeped him out, staring at him at various moments throughout each class period and in the halls. He'd gotten a bit of a break this lesson, though he wasn't sure why. Blaise seemed startled by the accusation, though to his credit, quickly morphed his surprise into unabashedness. "I'm not sure what you mean," he said blandly, "but no. You just seemed a bit quiet, last hour."

At this, Draco stopped, blinking. He'd spent most of the last period in his own head, for reasons he would never admit to his housemate, but he hadn't expected that to be noticed. He did it frequently enough. Maybe it was because he hadn't raised his hand, for once. He tried to give the other Slytherin a smile, but it wasn't easy, so he settled on not looking at him coldly. It was a work in progress. "Just thinking. Lessons weren't very interesting."

Blaise snorted, saying under his breath, "Yeah, the ones without Potter, anyways."

Draco bristled. "Pardon?"

His acquaintance grinned. "Oh, come off it, Malfoy, I'm just pulling your leg. Walk with me to the Great Hall?"

The other Slytherin was silent for another moment, then nodded curtly, following. Blaise mentioned something about House Points, but Draco was greatly disinterested, favoring the pit in his stomach that had formed at the 'joke' from moments ago. 

Draco had spent the last lesson in its entirety philosophizing about Harry Potter, which wasn't exactly an uncommon occurrence, but one he kept completely to himself. He'd always been a bit too obsessed with the Boy Who Lived, but becoming somewhat _close_ after the war had led to a... different sort of obsession. Draco refused to label it as an infatuation, but it was undoubtedly true that it was rare for him to go a day without thinking of the other boy. It'd really only come to a head when they'd started school back up again and Harry had started his ridiculous mission to be as friendly to Malfoy as possible, perhaps to make him feel less alienated after the events of the previous year, perhaps to make up for their previous rivalry, perhaps because he was aiming to make Draco's life miserable in an entirely new way. If the latter was the goal, he'd well succeeded, for Draco often felt the desire to bang his head against the wall when shot an easy grin or watching dark hair shift to reveal that scar. He hated it with every fiber of his being, and tried valiantly to make the feelings go away, fearing disappointing his mother or becoming more of a pariah than he already was. He'd tried snapping rubber against his wrist whenever the boy came to mind, drinking massive amounts of butterbeer, blatantly ignoring Harry for days. Nothing worked. The band broke, the taste of butterbeer became unbearable (it'd always been too sweet), and Harry would draw stupid dragons on his parchment until Draco had to speak to him to make him stop. (He may have kept one or two of the doodles, but that hadn't mattered. They were just very important notes.)

Despite the Slytherin's best efforts, Harry filled a space in his chest that had always been reserved for he and he alone. It was maddening, but Draco had eventually come to terms with it, feeling oddly guilty about trying to still hate the boy who had done much to help him, even when undeserved. But accepting his constant thoughts and acting on them, or even admitting them out loud, were very, very different things, and he had zero plans to ever do anything but the former. 

And then Blaise pulled his leg.

As they sat at the dining table for lunch, Draco's mind was a racing mess, and he barely poked at his ham, worrying. The other boy wouldn't have made such a joke unless he'd noticed, somehow gleaned Draco's actual feelings. He'd been so careful, though- it wasn't as if he talked about Potter to anyone anymore. He bit his lip, frustrated and unsure what to do about it.

Pansy kicked at his leg under the table, and their eyes met. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Draco coughed awkwardly. "Oh. Nothing, really. Did we get the points this morning?"

Theodore nodded. "Obviously. Did you see how slow the Gryffindors were? It's like they don't even care about the House Cup."

Blaise snorted. "Or they just plan on relying on the Golden Boy, like every year."

This lead to a couple of leery grins and chuckles. Draco said nothing, but Brandon piped up. "Yeah, I almost feel bad for you, Draco. He's always making you do the work in Potions and getting your attention." He pursed his lips. "Mariah's pompous, but at least she's good looking!"

The other boys let out raucous laughter, the girls rolling their eyes or shaking their heads. Draco frowned. "He gets his share done." They stopped, and looked to him again. "In Potions, I mean."

Pansy cocked her head. "Is that so? Well, I suppose you wouldn't mind, with how you talk his ear off. Is that why you haven't asked for a new seating arrangement?"

The blond gave the girl a thin smile that did little to disguise his irritation. "You know very well that it wouldn't be... in proper tact, to do so."

She waved a hand, dismissing him. "Oh, yes, the war and all. But still. If he annoys you, you don't have to give in. We could brush him up a bit, you know-"

Finally, Draco gave her a cold stare, cutting her off. "I'm able, thank you." This wasn't the first time it'd been offered, nor that his involvement in the war had been nonchalantly discussed, but he had little desire to cover either topics. He was more annoyed with his tablemates than he had been with Potter in an oddly long time. "In fact-"

"Draco."

The Gryffindor in question appeared then, sidling up to the Slytherin's side of the table as if it were nothing but natural. The others stared at him, some with growing looks of satisfaction on their faces that Draco didn't notice, for he was busy looking up at the dark haired boy, unsure of what to do. "Hello, Potter. Can I help you?"

A nod. "Yeah, actually. I need a partner for tonight."

Draco blanched internally, and his friends laughed behind their hands or into their goblets. "Excuse me?" he stuttered. Harry looked at him in confusion, and for some reason, Draco's thought of a lost puppy. "For Exploding Snap," the boy stated, as if reminding him (which Draco realized was the case, for Harry had mentioned that morning that he, Hermione, and Parvati were having a go at a bit of a 'championship', since he'd declared he was best). "You mind defending my honor for the first few rounds?" He smiled, almost unsurely, and Draco's heart fell out of it's chest. _You don't even have to ask_ , he thought unwillingly.

Instead of voicing this, he scoffed. "I suppose. Only as it'd be piteous to hear of your swift and tragic defeat." Harry took this in stride, nervousness leaving his expression much lighter and wider. "Great!" he said enthusiastically, not even taking the bait, to Draco's slight disappointment. "I'll see you in the common room after supper!" 

He strode off to his friends, gesturing wildly already, not leaving Draco a chance to respond. This wasn't exactly new to him- Harry was always finding some ridiculous excuse to force Draco to do things with him, out of his new friendliness- but this time, Draco didn't even attempt to seem bothered as he watched the boy walk away. He just turned back to his plate, poking again, previous conversation forgotten. A voice broke his thoughts.

"Well, I guess we're in for a treat tonight, aren't we?"

Draco's head darted up. Theodore was looking at him with a gleam in his eyes that couldn't quite be placed. "What- what do you mean?" The blond asked, slightly unnerved. Pansy answered for him, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

"We don't want to miss your team-up!"

Draco ignored the way his stomach sank at the idea of the Slytherins being there. Much as he wouldn't admit it before, he liked the time he spent with Harry one-on-one, or even with his friends, even if it was a bit draining. But this sounded like something akin to a party, and Draco would be center stage. Over a year ago, that'd have been a dream come true. Now, it made his head hurt. 

"Sure," he said anyways, not able to argue. "Whatever."

\- 

That night, he stared at himself in the mirror. He was already late to meet the Gryffindors, but he couldn't decide whether or not to leave his robes on. Taking them off required a degree of comfortability Draco wasn't sure would be appropriate, but leaving them on might be uptight. In the end, he took them off, but left his tie on, shirt buttoned crisply. He only let himself fix his hair a little bit.

As he entered the common room, he was greeted with noise and laughter. People were playing various games, doing homework, or simply chatting. The Eighth-Year common room wasn't exactly what any of the students had been used to, but it'd been necessary, for McGonagall was unwilling to cut down on the general student body to make up for their single-year presence. It worked fine enough, but was severely... co-ed, something some of the Houses weren't pleased with. Draco noted the Slytherins standing and sitting in one general area. He looked past them to see Harry and Hermione on the floor, unpacking cards. As he came closer, he heard Hermione scold Harry for setting them up wrong, and Harry gave an exasperated sigh, which tugged a tiny smile out of Draco.

Hermione noticed him first. "Oh, hello, Malfoy. Harry mentioned he'd invited you. Tell him, he's setting up quite incorrectly, would you? He doesn't believe me."

Draco settled next to Harry, a respectable distance apart, which the dark hair boy casually closed by scooting closer to point to the cards. "No, no, she is! Look, we're meant to be playing Patience, not that other one-"

"Bavarian," Draco interjected, trying to ignore the flush of his cheeks. Hermione gave him a sly smile that he also chose to ignore.

"Right, that! We agreed on _not_ doing any of those academic versions." He huffed. "You're already trying to cheat, and we haven't even started!"

Hermione looked affronted. "I'm not trying to _cheat_ , I just wanted a more skilled game. However, you clearly aren't at that level yet, so we'll have it your way." She said this mischievously, and Harry spluttered at the thinly veiled but playful jab. Draco chuckled as he struggled to defend himself, and helped Hermione reset the game up. 

"Traitor," Harry muttered darkly. Draco raised a brow at him.

"I didn't take the Boy Who Lived as a pouter," he teased. Harry knocked him with his shoulder, laughing. "Oh, come off it, you arse!"

Draco bit back a grin in response, and suddenly felt a nudge. He turned, and Pansy was watching him with a bemused expression. She said nothing, but her gaze was enough to humble Draco, reminding him that it wasn't just he and Harry. He returned his focus to the Gryffindors, his jaw set. After a moment, Harry glanced at him, his brow furrowed. Draco didn't meet his eyes until Harry poked him in the side, causing him to startle. Quietly, so he went unheard, the other boy asked, "You alright?"

Draco felt something block up his throat. Stupidly, he gave a small, 'yes'. Harry watched him for another moment, then nodded, giving him a grin. Made a comment about it all being in the name of fun, perhaps thinking Draco was concerned about losing. He returned the sentiment, but did little to engage in banter throughout the game, which was unusual as of late, and the others noticed, though other than a shared look between Harry and Hermione, nothing was acknowledged, and Draco was glad. The Slytherins leered and shouted profanities, getting bored here and there, and finally dusted off and trickled away, one by one, until it was only Draco, and, surprisingly, Theodore.

Hermione had ended up beating Harry, and Draco Parvati, which lead to their one-off. Hermione was still intently choosing strategic moves, but Draco, despite being aware that a small bit of pride was being tested, was starting to feel drowsy. He yawned as he slapped down a card too slowly, and it exploded just shortly away from his face, stunning him and leaving a bit of ash across his nose. Hermione grinned triumphantly, and Parvati was cackling. Draco blinked in shock, and turned to Harry, who was snickering. "I lost," Draco said dumbly. Harry's mouth curved upwards. "You did," he agreed. "You fought bravely, though. You've got a bit of.."

And suddenly Draco was wide awake, for Harry was leaning in incredibly close, his hand brushing away the dust from the Slytherin's pale cheeks. He was still grinning, and Draco's brain short circuited after taking in the way Harry's tie hung loosely around his neck, mostly undone, his shirt unbuttoned two holes down, his hair falling messily into his bright green eyes, which were much too awake and promising for this late at night- and his warm fingertips, ghosting the bridge of Draco's nose. "But hey," the Gryffindor was saying, "You're still a winner to me-"

Later, when Draco was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling with his heart still racing, he would be certain that something other than himself had taken over in that moment, doing what he'd told himself he never would do. It was like he wasn't in control of his own body, like it'd finally decided, _enough was enough, get on with it_ without consulting his brain. Like he was under some kind of spell. The spell of one certain dark-haired teenage wizard. In the moment, though, he was thoughtless.

He leaned forward and kissed the easy grin off of the face of the boy who lived.

-

It lasted for less than a moment, for Draco ripped himself away just as suddenly as he'd pushed himself closer, a hand clapping over his mouth and his eyes wide. Harry was staring at him like he'd been hit with a Stunning Spell, completely disarmed and taken by surprise. The room was utterly silent; it was as if the air had been vacuumed out.

There was a short giggle behind Draco. It quickly turned into a burst of laughter, which took the attention of most of the people in the room, save the two boys sitting on the floor, still not moving. Something in the back of Draco's mind registered that it was Theodore laughing, and Draco couldn't feel a thing. A shallow pool of ice formed in his stomach, and he ran. He shoved himself up from the floor, from Harry, who still stared at him with a dumbfound look in his eyes, and ran out of the common room, not stopping till he reached the Tower. He stared out at the night sky, his lungs heaving and a prickling behind his eyes, and slid down the stone wall. There was a pounding, a slamming that Draco felt in his veins, and it took a moment to realize that it was the beating of his ferverous heart. He breathed in, and a sob came with it.

At some point, when the night rose a shade and there were no tears left to cry, Draco dragged himself to his dorm, silently entering and falling to the bed. He didn't bother to get undressed, choosing instead to look at the lack of a sky above him, the stars still imprinted behind his eyelids and painting themselves across the bedframe. His eyes were open, but he saw nothing, and that was where he remained.

Silence, finally, permeated his mind.


	3. different

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was kinda rushed, so it isn't my favorite, but hey, look who actually finished a multi-chapter fic for the first time

Draco awoke to the quiet shuffling of boys getting ready for the day, clearly trying not to disturb him, but doing so nonetheless. He sat up with a grogginess he wasn't wholly unfamiliar with, but did not enjoy, his eyes burning, though from the night's... _activities_ or the fact that he had gotten next to zero sleep, his guess was as good as anybody's. He sat in bed for a few more moments, ignoring his dorm mates and attempting to get his wits about them and school himself into pushing down the dread that arose as he considered the day ahead of him. A pillow hit him lightly on the knee.

Draco looked up with a scowl to see Brandon, who flinched minutely. Draco didn't have the energy to feel bad, despite his efforts to do so since the war. Since befriending Harry. Merlin, he was a disaster. Brandon spoke to him. "Hey," he said softly, wringing the pillow between his fingers. "I, uh... we're sorry." He looked back at the other two boys, who said nothing, but seemed to feel the same, in varying severity. "We, uh.. never meant to.."

Draco cut him off. "Sorry for _what_ , exactly?" he asked sharply, his mind cleared with a sense of suspicion that only heightened when Brandon grew more meek under his gaze.

"T-the potion."

What.

"You'll have to excuse me, Reeves, for I don't think I've the slightest idea what you're talking about."

It came out in a messy jumble. "Blaise a-and Theo, they got one of those love potions from that joke shop in Hogsmeade, and we thought it w-would be funny, you know, because you and Harry have been going at it for _years_ , and seriously, it was so obvious, but we didn't think you'd get so upset or that _that_ would happen-"

'That' probably being when Draco had lost all semblance of self control and locked lips with Harry Potter. Which, perhaps would have been a charmed life, except according to Brandon, he'd literally not been in control of himself. How did the others even know about this? They weren't even there!

A Chinese Fireball roared in the pit of Draco's stomach, yet he remained stock still. The other boy had trailed off, and was waiting for the blond to say something, but Draco had little to say. Instead, he simply asked, "Are they in the Great Hall?"

Brandon seemed surprised. "I-I would assume so?"

Draco nodded curtly, getting up to rapidly gather his dressrobes and wand. "Good, I'll see you there shortly." With that, he went off to bathe, leaving a the other boys blinking and unsettled, only able to wonder what was next to come.

In the moments he spent putting himself together, the anger Draco felt boiled at a steeper and steeper heat. He felt betrayed. Bitter. Mournful. Blessedly, he wasn't crying; his face was dry, and so were his thoughts, for all he could think about was getting downstairs. 

He entered the Great Hall not speedily, not with a heavy footfall or a shouted curse, but with the creaking of the large doors and his hands folded, a blank expression and a slow gait. It went almost comically silent at the eighth-year table, the Slytherins staring at him as he sat down. It had been a while, since Draco had had this kind of power, was this close to the top, had people look at him with anything other than caution or disdain. It almost made him want to burst, to yell angrily at the fools he shared a House with, or fall to tears all over again, or simply get up and run away. But he reached the foot of the table, next to where Theodore sat, he, Blaise, and Pansy watching him carefully. He sat.

A silent second. Blaise spoke up. "Good morning, Draco. Sleep well?"

Draco snorted, then lifted his goblet, peering into it as it filled. He looked up curiously. "Can I drink this with comfort of mind, or did you poison this one, too?"

The other Slytherin's eyes widened slightly, and he coughed at the bluntness of Draco's statement. Everyone looked rather uncomfortable, a few of them looking away to start conversations or dis-involve themselves. Draco looked to Pansy. She sighed. "Darling, it was just a bit of fun. No one meant for it to get so serious."

Draco hummed, continuing to think out loud. "You all were watching me, though. Yesterday, during lessons, lunch, all that. You were waiting for me to... what, exactly?"

"Make a fool of yourself. Make Potter a little uncomfortable." Theodore said lowly, as if he didn't want to say it- though to his credit, he looked Draco straight in the eyes. 

The blond nodded. "Right. Except I didn't, did I? I was supposed to be acting different, but I wasn't." This thought opened up a new can of worms that Draco hadn't really processed previously, and he suddenly felt more defeated than angry, lo and behold by his own emotions. He supposed it wasn't exactly surprising to learn he was already foolishly besotted with the former Chosen One, but it felt... rushed and bare, with it being out for virtually anyone to see, for him to have had no choice in withholding it. A year ago, he would have cursed each and every one of them, made them pay for their idiocy, written his father in rage and spat in their faces. Now, he rested his head on his fist and sighed. "You're a bunch of twits, every one of you."

Wary glances were exchanged. Brandon started to voice his confusion, but was quickly cut off by Blaise, ever the opportunist. "You are.. absolutely correct."

Pansy pouted. "I'm no such thing!" Theodore glared at her, and she rolled her eyes. "Fine. In this particular situation, I suppose I am. Only because the lot of you are, too."

Draco looked to Theodore, remembering the way he'd laughed just hours before, clearly at the head of the joke. "You humiliated me." He stated, leaving no room for disagreement. The other boy didn't look sheepish, but frowned slightly. 

"Yes. I didn't realize that you.. were so upset. I suppose I thought maybe it was a faulty potion, delayed reaction, whatever. I mean, the way you two were staring at each other after the fact," he grinned leeringly, "was nothing if not comical." Upon noticing Draco's lack of agreement, he humbled himself. "Or, perhaps, ah. Dis..heartening."

There was nothing he could do, Draco realized, nothing he could spit or spell that would fix it. The damage had been done- he was gone on Harry Potter, and they all knew it. The truth had been laid out, and he would have to face the way it killed him alone. He had to pick his battles, and if past him would have chosen this very one, then he knew it was best he didn't.

"Well then," he said, not lightly, but somewhere on the spectrum. "I trust you'll not again commit an act so stupid." A couple of nods, or avoided gazes. Draco shrugged. This was the most in control of a conversation he'd been since before the war, excluding when he talked to Harry. He no longer enjoyed it, and in the manner it was granted? He also didn't need it. In fact, he was itching to be alone with his thoughts again, so he stood up, dismissing himself, not interested in the awkward ice breaking Brandon had instigated. Unfortunately, he'd only made it as far as turning out of his seat when he nearly ran into a solid body.

Of course, it had to be Harry.

Harry, who was fiddling with his tie nervously, but not moving when Draco gestured to get past him. "Malfoy." Draco suddenly had the extreme desire to empty the contents of his stomach. "Could you... Can we talk?" Hesitation. "Please?"

"There is quite literally nothing I would rather do less," Draco snarked, but it got him nowhere, what with the dark haired boy looking at him with a pleading expression, one that looked almost guilty. Draco nearly recoiled at that. Harry wouldn't look guilty unless he had something particularly unsavory to say to him, but perhaps he deserved it. After all, Draco was the one that had ruined the friendship Harry had worked so hard to build between them.

After a moment, Draco exhaled, motioning for Harry to lead the way. He did so, the two of them walking through the doors together, though not before Draco saw the look Hermione shot her friend, encouraging. He bit his tongue.

They walked out of the main hallway, stopping at a nook in the wall to the left. Harry leaned against it, collecting his thoughts. "So," he started, awkward. He didn't seem to know what to say after that.

"So," the Slytherin repeated, tonelessly. "Just get it over with, Potter."

Harry huffed, but did as asked. "Theodore told me. About the potion." Draco only nodded, not interested in lying or wasted justifications. Harry could figure it out easily enough, if he hadn't already. "And it was really messed up, for them to do that. Also kind of creepy, but you know." Draco's stomach dropped, and he wanted to bury himself alive- _creepy_. Fantastic. "But I messed up too, and I wanted to apologize for that. I know how much you hated that, and I shouldn't have put you in that position-"

Wait a second. "What position? What are you on about?"

Harry screwed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. "You know. The flirting, and all that. Your friends knew I liked you, and they pulled your leg because of it. I never meant to make it a big deal, or piss you off, or make you kiss me, for Merlin's sake. And I was so surprised, I didn't know what to do, and then you got so upset and I felt so-"

"Shut up," Draco interjected. Harry's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish for a moment, then slipped shut, waiting for Draco to speak. But the Slytherin was running relays in his brain, trying to catch up. He started with the easiest issue. "You think this is _your_ fault?" he asked incredulously. Harry shrugged tentatively, and suddenly Draco was laughing. It was ugly and disbelieving, yet he could see Harry smiling slightly, though clearly not sure if he should be. It was, in short, adorable, and Draco hated it. He straightened once it died off, brows raised. "It's not."

Harry sighed. "Draco-"

"No, you fumbling idiot, they didn't give me a love potion to make fun of you. They did it to make fun of _me_." Clearly, Draco had been severely incorrect about his assumption that Harry could put two and two together on his own, because the boy was frowning as if in the middle of an O.W.L. Draco swallowed, knowing he was going to have to spell it out, but carried on. "I'd been under it all day," he hinted, hoping to help himself. 

Harry's frown deepened. "What? No, you were fine all day-"

"Because it was, to most extents, a normal day, Harry." He still didn't get it, and Draco was getting desperate. "I didn't act any differently because I didn't feel any differently."

"That doesn't make any sense! How could you not feel any differently under a love potion-" He stopped, full body, his eyes blown wide as he finally understood. If it were any dissimilar circumstance, Draco would've laughed. "Oh."

Draco drew in a breath. "Yes. Oh." It was silent for a minute, as the gears worked in Harry's head, and Draco was considering bolting, but then the other boy stepped closer, and he was grateful for the breath he'd taken a moment ago, because suddenly he had forgotten how to breathe.

"So what you're saying is," Harry said with his head tilted to the side, "You _wanted_ to kiss me."

"Oh, Gorgon's grovel, you-" But the Gryffindor was giggling, and Draco softened. Only a little, obviously. "I didn't want to."

"No?" Harry asked, brow raised. "Not there, no. Not with everyone around. Not in real life." 

Parted lips, and uncertainty. "Oh," he said for the second time. "You don't- I don't understand." He shoved a hand through his hair.

Draco's chest was screeching. "It's just- a lot of problems. I was scared, you know. I've been fighting you my whole time here, what would it be if-"

"-if you were snogging me instead?" the boy cut in cheekily. Draco shoved him, albeit with little strength. "Yes, you numbskull, what kind of wretched life would I lead if I'd resorted to _that_?" 

Harry grabbed the arm Draco had used to shove him and used it to yank him towards himself, until they were nose to nose. "Wouldn't be all that wretched, I'd like to think. That's up to you though." 

Draco stuttered. "I. Um. Well."

He was saved more hapless speaking. "Draco," Harry said seriously, and for some reason Draco was struggling to divide his attention between the green of the other boy's eyes and the words he was saying. "Do you want to be with me? Like" he gestured pointlessly "romantically?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "As opposed to?"

"Shut up, you know what I mean."

Draco bit his lip, taking in what it _all_ would mean. Being out in the open, talking to Harry whenever he wanted, being closer to him than he'd ever allowed himself, letting go of the emotional rut he'd slotted himself into for so long and trading it for acting afool every day, a lovesick boy with no potion in his system, with the boy he'd fought for and against as long as he could remember, who _wanted_ this, wanted him, despite all they had been through.

He barely choked on the word, " _Yes._ "

What he got in return was a smile brighter than the sun, and then Harry was the one leaning in this time, their lips meeting for more than just a moment with a softness that Draco doubted he'd ever be able to go without again.

They broke apart when students began filing out of the Great Hall, Draco's arms around the Gryffindor's shoulders and Harry's hands against the Slytherin's face and waist. A catcall flew down the hall, and Draco's face burned, but Harry just laughed, and yeah, Draco thought, this? He could get used to it.

-

"Could you hand me the Hog's-"

"-Bog's-"

"-whatever, the thing, please?" 

Harry's arm was outstreched, hand open expectantly, and Draco dropped the ingredient in it. Harry plopped it into the cauldron, which promptly boiled up and over into his face, making him cough and gag as Draco stepped back in disgust. "Oh, man," the Gryffindor spat, several other students snickering. "I hate Tuesdays."

Draco took in his boyfriend's disheveled and soggy appearance and chuckled, waving his wand and speaking quietly to remove some of the mess. Wiping it from his glasses with the end of his robe, Harry grinned at the other boy. "Thanks," he said, glancing back at the no-longer-potion. "Y'wanna take this one over?"

The blond was bemused. "It seems you always happen to be utterly incapable of mixing properly on Tuesdays, and Tuesdays alone."

He received a crooked grin, secretive. "Well, you know, I'm a need-based learner."

"And what, you don't need Potions?"

A shrug, the boy leaning backwards against the table. "Oh, sure I do," he said, smiling wickedly. "But I don't need the boring ones. What good are they gonna do me when I can just have you do them?"

Every Tuesday, they had this conversation; Draco was long past giving in and arguing with him the merits of Potion-making. "And what will you do," he inquired dryly, pulling apart a root, "when I'm not around to do it for you?"

"I survived Voldemort. I'll survive an O.W.L. with a few missing pieces."

Draco couldn't help but cackle, quickly disgusing it as a cough when the Professor whipped around, much to Harry's amusement. "Nitwit," he insulted under his breath. Harry only grinned. "You love it."

Draco's hands didn't even still, as typical when the other boy shot that particular response. He only hummed noncomitally, which somehow fueled Harry's ridiculous grin. He looked back at him, locking eyes, and Draco was sporting a (begrudging) smile of his own, quickly going back to work and ordering Harry to get a new Bog's Mend.

"Aye, aye," the silly boy said with a mock salute, trotting off to fetch it. As Draco was mashing, he heard a comment behind him.

_"Harry is so whipped."_

Draco's grin threatened to take over his entire face, and he ducked his head when he saw Harry returning in an effort to hide it, but it'd been noticed. Harry cocked his head, a tiny smile playing his lips. "What?" he said. "Something funny?"

Draco took the mend and shook his head, stupid smile a bit smaller, but still there. "No," he answered, looking back at the boy he still had yet to wrap his head around being his. "Just.. in a good mood, I suppose."

He had a feeling it'd be a while till he wasn't.


End file.
